


The White Lake

by dismiss_your_fearsx



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Family, Post-The Angry Tide, Reference to Death and Illness, post-s5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:40:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25557496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dismiss_your_fearsx/pseuds/dismiss_your_fearsx
Summary: In January 1804, Isabella-Rose is struck with a bad case of whooping cough.
Relationships: Demelza Carne/Ross Poldark
Comments: 5
Kudos: 48





	The White Lake

Ross Poldark had walked a long time until he felt his old ankle injury protest at the distance it had covered. He turned right off the dirt road and went into a cluster of bushes, feeling an unconscious nostalgic pull. 

He had spent the entire night pacing the floors of Nampara's small parlour, Demelza in a fitful half-sleep on the bench next to the roaring fire. When the first signs of light came and Dwight had still not surfaced with news neither good nor bad, Ross had announced he was going for a walk. He had not heard what Demelza had said to this, or if she had said anything at all, but he simply had to get out of that house; he felt like a caged animal - trapped in the confines of miserable circumstance, perhaps trapped in the cruelest form of time capsule.

The dawn had broken now, and the white lake twinkled before his eyes; its thick icy layer at once mesmerising and menacing. Like life itself.

Ross took a step forward and remembered his cousin with a shiver. Francis had been gone ten years and his death had left in its wake a trail of devastation that the stars might not have predicted. 

The lake’s shimmering glitter beckoned his reckless streak to step on its deceivingly thin crust. His present misery was drawn to the bank like a moth to a flame. 

What would the consequence be if he, Ross, fell through the wintery ice and drowned? He immediately worried for Demelza, how would she live without his income? He reflected that Caroline and Dwight would care for her and the children in such a circumstance. To die in battle, or in the noble rescue of a friend, was one thing; to die of one’s own folly was another thing entirely. He would not be forgiven for it, he knew, and all those he loved would live with a sharp anger in their hearts until they took their last breath. But what of sweet Isabella-Rose? To die of croup was fairly common, but the depth of grief its ruthlessness left behind, unique. The experience, a loss of a child, was not unique to Ross but familiar. For months, years, after Julia, little Julia Grace, had died in his arms, he had only been half-alive. He felt similarly now in his fear as he peered at his reflection in the keening frosty glass. Surely fate could not deal him this double blow? He could not weather it; Demelza would not survive it. And then what would life be?

He sat there a while, the weak winter sun watching him from the clouds as he considered the consequences of the two actions that lay before him.

In the end, Ross refused to answer the siren’s call and turned, with burning eyes and a wet face, on his heel back towards his horse, and then onto Nampara. 

Demelza greeted him upon his return some hours later. “Oh, Ross! You’re back! Back safe!” She flung herself into his arms. 

He closed his eyes as he snaked his arms around her waist. He opened his dry mouth to ask after their youngest daughter, “How-?” he began.

But Demelza quickly said, “Bella has come brave. The fever broke some hours ago and she is now resting upstairs. Her breathing is better.” 

He nodded in receipt of the fact, an understatement of the relief that engulfed his being. “Where is Dwight? I wish to speak to him,” he managed. The house was quiet, almost too quiet, as though in a silent prayer. 

He had to know how Bella was, how she truly was; Dwight would not lie to him on this account.

Demelza began to steer Ross towards the fire and a waiting chair; he let her do so. He shivered as she silently took off his snow-lined boots; he was utterly spent. He needed to sleep. “Dwight went not an hour ago," Demelza informed him. "Caroline sent word that he was to bring Jeremy and Clowance to Killewarren to stay the night, which cheered them a little. They went with Dwight in the carriage.” 

“And Bella?” he wondered again.

Demelza rubbed a hand against his back. “Brave,” she repeated, her lips trembling. “Cool to the touch. Asleep upstairs. Just asleep.” 

Ross took her hand and kissed it. “And you? Are you well?” 

She nodded and offered him a tired smile. “I am - now. I’m a small matter close to exhaustion, but I am well.” 

“You must rest,” said Ross. 

“So must you.” 

“We’ll rest together. I’m sorry I left. I couldn’t be here. I cannot explain it.”

Demelza stared at him knowingly, and brushed a tendril of hair from his face. “Do not fret over it. Dwight was here - he caught me when my knees failed.” 

Ross sniffed. “I’m glad.”

“We should not have tears,” said Demelza, as they spilled over in her eyes and raced down her face. “But then I s’pose tears may be happy. So we’ll say these are happy tears; tears of gratitude. It does- it does a body good to remember how fragile life is.” 

“Does it?” Ross wondered as he impatiently wiped the back of his hand across his eyes. His body certainly did not appreciate the worry of the last five days. Last night had been one of the darkest of his life; to see his little girl struggle so harshly for breath...

Demelza clutched his hands tightly and held them against her chest. “It does. It does! We must appreciate all that we have. We must, Ross. We cannot rightly take all that we have for granted. Life is too precious to be viewed from a place of laxity. We must view it with new eyes each day to fully appreciate its blessings.” 

The corners of Ross’s mouth twitched. 

“Did I use the wrong word?” Demelza wondered. 

Ross shook his head. “No, you used precisely the right one. I only smile because you always know exactly what to say, my love.” He pressed a kiss to her hairline. 

Demelza did not strictly believe this was true, but she had no wish to argue with him today - or any day henceforth - and did not altogether want to rebuke such a kind compliment. “Would you like to see Bella? Dwight gave her a powder to help her sleep; he’ll come back this afternoon with more medicines.” 

“Yes,” said Ross. “She is upstairs?” 

“Yes.” 

“Let us go together.” 

They climbed the familiar stairs of their home, leaning on one another, and tiptoed into their bedchamber. Bella slept peacefully in her crib in the corner; Ross was wont to disturb her, but he needed to hold her awhile now, be reassured as to her renewing health. The relief he felt as he pressed his lips to her cooling forehead caused his shoulders to sag considerably. He ambled over to the bed and lay down; he set her wrapped frame on his chest, as he had done during the first precious weeks of her life. Demelza reached out a hand and placed it atop of Ross’s on the blanket before molding herself against his side. They fell asleep that way, their cares entirely forgotten until the late afternoon when Dwight returned with more medicine. 

After receiving assurance of the youngest Poldark's health, in the form of Dr Enys' word as a physician and friend, the Poldarks soon gratefully drifted off to sleep once again, holding one another close.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this wee glimpse into post-series Romelza and the Poldark clan. I tried to keep the tone and dialogue as close to Winston Graham's style as I could. (But of course his unique gift for writing is impossible to replicate!) I hope you are all keeping safe and well. Sending you all lots of love x


End file.
